


That Old Black Magic That You Weave So Well

by blackkat



Series: under that old black magic called love [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, First Kiss, First Meetings, Friendship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 18:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15954788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: It's possible Minato might have something of a weakness of redheads. Especially the distressed kind.





	That Old Black Magic That You Weave So Well

“The lights, the smoke, the grime…the city itself seemed alive and lurking that day. I’d just walked into Minato’s and ordered a bad ham on rye with swiss, when trouble sashays through my door like a whore into a church—bold as brass, a flashy redhead with legs up to heaven, or down to hell. He had bad news written on him like Tanzaku-Gai on a bad night—”

“Kakashi, _stop_ ,” Minato says, exasperated. “And my ham on rye is not _bad_.”

“It has the same density as lead,” Kakashi says, cheerfully, but at least he stops with the dramatic monologue as the bell above the door chimes. Minato shoots him a chiding look, not that it’s ever worked before, and then turns a smile on the slender man hesitating in the doorway.

“Good evening,” he calls, and in the shadows of the streetlamps outside and the half-open door it’s hard to make out the man’s face. When Kakashi said _redhead_ , Minato's first thought was _Kushina,_ even though she and Obito are in Suna right now for a joint taskforce. This definitely isn't Kushina, though.

“Ah…” The man hesitates, casting a glance at Kakashi where he’s wiping down tables, and then slowly, carefully takes a step into the light.

It’s entirely possible Minato's heart misses its next beat.

Kakashi’s _flashy_ is entirely incorrect, but he’s gorgeous anyway, a pretty, pale face framed by hair even darker than Kushina's, with violet eyes and a soft mouth. Tall, thin, wary, casting a careful glance around the diner as he approaches the counter, and he’s dressed like he hasn’t had clothes that fit in a long time, the sleeves of his baggy sweatshirt slipping down over slender hands. There's a battered canvas messenger bag slung over his shoulder, draped with charms that look like cell phone decorations and hand-woven bracelets.

“Hello,” he says, and glances up at Minato from under the fall of his hair, hesitates, and then offers Minato a small, tentative smile. It’s probably one of the sweetest expressions Minato has ever seen, and he can't quite tear his eyes away. “I—I'm not too late to order, am I?”

“Of course not,” Minato says, suddenly very, very glad that he put himself and Kakashi on the night shift this week. “We’re open until midnight. You can sit wherever you like.”

Thankfully, _wonderfully_ , the man casts a quick look up and down the building and then takes one of the stools in front of the bar, just one down from where Minato is standing. “Thanks,” he says, and when Minato grins at him he seems to relax a little, smiling back. “Do you have coffee?”

“What kind of a diner would it be without coffee?” Minato asks with a laugh, but he pulls down the pot that he brewed earlier. Behind the man’s back, Kakashi makes desperate _abort, abort_ signs, but Minato ignores him pointedly, snagging a cup off the shelf and filling it. “Room for cream?”

“Just black’s fine.” The redhead takes it from his hand, and Minato would swear he feels a tingle like static when their fingers brush. The stranger seems to feel it, too, because those pretty eyes flicker up to Minato's face, color touching pale cheeks, before he ducks his head and lifts the cup to his lips.

(Minato absolutely, definitely does not brace himself for his response.)

There's a pause, then another careful sip, and the man glances up again, smile just a little wider. “It’s good,” he says. “It’s really good, thank you.”

Kakashi, who is the definition of an overdramatic sixteen-year-old, throws himself into one of the booths, buries his face in his arms, and collapses grandly over the table with a thump.

“Sorry about him,” Minato says when the stranger flinches and twists around, almost spilling his coffee. “Hormones, you know? His boyfriend’s out of town.”

The stranger chuckles, covering it with one hand like he’s going to get yelled at for showing amusement. “That’s understandable,” he says, easing back into his seat. He takes the menu Minato offers him with careful fingers, and lays it open on the counter.

“The ham on rye is good,” Minato says cheerfully, because it _is_ and Kakashi is just a brat. “If you like ham. Or rye.”

“That does sound good.” The redhead hands back the menu, hesitates, and then says, “With a salad instead of the fries, if it’s possible?”

“Probably better that way,” Kakashi says, shoving away from the booth and ducking around the counter to steal the slip from Minato's hand. “His fries are awful.”

“Kakashi!” Minato protests, flushing. “My fries are _fine_!” Kakashi just waves mockingly over his shoulder as he vanishes into the kitchen, and Minato sighs aggrievedly and says, “Again, sorry for him.”

The stranger laughs a little, and when he looks up his eyes are warm. “Is he your son?” he asks. “You seem close.”

“He’s my ward,” Minato corrects, because he would never try to steal Sakumo's place in Kakashi’s life, but Kakashi is still his family. He meets those violet eyes with a smile, and says, “I'm Minato, the owner. Are you a local?” Because if he’s a local that means there's a chance he might come back, as long as they don’t scare him away, and Minato is desperately hoping that’s the case.

“Nagato,” he returns, and his fingers curl tightly around his coffee cup as he hesitates. “I—I'm thinking of staying nearby, since there are places for rent. I'm from Ame, though.”

“I hope you do stay,” Minato says earnestly, and can't resist the urge to reach out, touching Nagato's hand where it rests on the counter. Nagato's eyes widen, color climbing up his cheeks, and he doesn’t pull away. “I know the neighborhood doesn’t look like much, but it’s a good place to start over.”

In the back, Kakashi drops something, pointedly and loudly. Minato ignores him.

Nagato's smile is a little wry. “Is it that obvious?” he asks, glancing down at the ragged hems of his sleeves.

“Only because I was there too, just a few years ago,” Minato says gently, and smiles encouragingly at Nagato. “It’s easier to find your feet in a big city like Konoha sometimes.”

“I'm hoping so.” Nagato brushes his hair back self-consciously, tucking it behind his ear. Even in the unflattering fluorescent lights he’s beautiful, and Minato wants to keep looking at him all night. “My cousin lives somewhere in the city, but—I need to find her, and I have no idea how to start.”

Minato pounces on the opening without hesitation. “I used to be a private detective,” he says brightly. “Maybe I can help you? I still know a few people.”

Relief fills Nagato's face for a moment, and he swallows, turns his hand over underneath Minato's to grip his fingers lightly. “Really?” he asks. “I know I look—but I have money, and I can pay you for your time.”

“We can talk about that later,” Minato says firmly. “Besides, we’re down a waiter since my other full-time employee went back to school. If you want to apply, I’d consider it payment enough.”

For a long moment, Nagato doesn’t say anything. Then, with a huff that’s halfway between a laugh and something darker, he ducks his head, letting his hair swing over his face. “You’re—you're really kind,” he says, voice breaking. “But you don’t—I shouldn’t work here—”

From outside the diner’s wide windows, there's a loud shriek of wind, sudden and deafening.

Nagato jerks, wrenching away from Minato's touch. His cup slips from his fingers, shattering against the tiles with a crash, and he staggers back, abruptly desperate gaze snapping to the door. There are shadows swarming outside of the windows, crawling up the glass like salamanders and leaving streaks of poison-dark miasma on the surface of Minato's wards. The sigils flicker and flare, gold-edged blue, and in their light the fear and despair on Nagato's face are all too clear.

“Minato!” Kakashi says, bursting through the kitchen doors, but Minato is already moving. He vaults the counter, landing lightly on the other side, and there's _power_ outside, something heavy and corrosive and dark with satisfaction. It rattles the door on its hinges, making the bell clatter, and Nagato flinches hard, recoils—

Minato catches him, drags him into his arms and down to the tile, hugging Nagato to his chest. “You're fine,” he says into his ear as Nagato clutches at his shoulders. “You're fine, I promise, they can't get in, the wards are too strong. They can't touch you in here. There's no way in. You're okay.”

Fingers tight against Minato's skin, Nagato raises his head, that practiced sort of terror still on his face. Too many encounters with this particular threat, Minato thinks, tightening his grip just a little, but this time it’s _not_ a threat. Just noise, just wind, just a storm outside the door, knocking to come in. The wards are blazing, glowing with sun-bright light, and it’s beating the shadows back.

“Thank you,” Nagato breathes, and tips forward, burying his face in Minato's shoulder. “Six gods, _thank you_. I thought—”

He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Minato shifts back, bracing himself against the bottom of the counter, and lets Nagato curl against him. He brushes his fingers through dark red hair, feels the hum of contained power that ebbs and flows under Nagato's skin like a tide, and wonders how long this witch has been after him. A long time, likely; if Minato can feel his power through skin contact, he must be one of the most powerful sorcerers in existence, and unspeakably valuable.

“You can stay here as long as you want,” he promises Nagato. “The wards will keep you safe, and my apartment is downstairs. There's plenty of room. They won't get you.”

Nagato takes a shuddering breath, leans back. This time, the fear has shifted into determination, and he leans in, frames Minato's cheek with one hand. “Thank you,” he whispers again, and presses their lips together, soft and chaste and traced with power that shivers down Minato's spine like lightning.

“You’re welcome,” he says, breathless, and can't resist the urge to lean in for another kiss, sweet and careful.

Kakashi drops a tablecloth on their heads with a sound of utter disgust. “I _quit_ ,” he tells Minato loudly, “and I _mean it_ this time.”

Minato breaks down laughing, and Nagato is laughing too, terror shifted into giddy relief. He helps Minato bat his way free of checkered gingham, and he’s so lovely in the golden light of the wards and the retreating wash of shadows that Minato can't help but kiss him again.


End file.
